In the packed Boogaloo pub the other night, my local here in Highgate, where on Tuesdays there's a faintly legendary rock and pop quiz. Sometimes mildly famous pop people drop in. Tonight there's Bernard Butler, and, more impressively, Shane MacGowan, if only to confirm he's alive and not locked away in some institution. Mr MacGowan scares me.
I am later informed that Carl from the Libertines is also present. I've yet to be swayed by his group, but I do approve of them reciting Mr Sassoon's Suicide In The Trenches at a recent award ceremony.
I join Ms Senay, Ms Anna, Ms Jen and Ms Jane and as usual find most the of questions far too difficult. However, I do know that:
(a) The director of Curiosity Killed The Cat's video for "Misfit" was Andy Warhol.
(b) The acting debut as nuns in a 1968 episode of "Tarzan" was by Diana Ross and the Supremes
(c) Bob Hardy and Paul Thomson are the rhythm section in Franz Ferdinand.
(d) Rattlesnakes was the debut album of Lloyd Cole and The Commotions, who are reforming.
(e) Rescue Me was by Fontella Bass, NOT Aretha Franklin.
(f) Joan Baez looks like that.
I am absolutely useless at everything else. When questions begin "Which reggae producer…", I laugh with giddy abandon and nip out to set fire to a squirrel.
Mr Butler's team wins. We come about halfway. But frankly, we have the best hair collectively, and that's the main thing.
All harmless competitive fun. No one got hurt, no beauty was despoiled. It is possible.
I mention this latter point, because I'm still reeling from hearing that the notorious <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/uk_news/story/0,3604,385956,00.html">Blue Peter Garden vandalisation</a> of the 80s was carried out by the millionaire footballer Les Ferdinand (not a patch on his musical relation Franz) and his friends. Mr Ferdinand now dismisses it as "just a bit of fun". A terrible, depressing catch-all phrase, also favoured by louts, bullies and rapists.
Far be it for me to suggest that's my view of all professional players of "The Beautiful Game", but the reader must understand that my prejudice is ingrained from school PE lessons, where my attendant Proustian sensations are akin to the stark terror of a Vietnam conscript.
One of the few joys about adult life is not being forced to play wretched football anymore. At school, sport is restricted to a few merciful hours per week. In the adult world, it's everywhere. The world is a World Of Sport. People wear trainers and other sportswear despite not even being professional athletes. Sport is The Default Interest. I've never understood why. Even many perfectly intelligent people, who would never dream of vandalising a fly, seem to like football. It makes no sense.
As soon as I am made King, I shall ban All Sport. Why? Just a bit of fun.
